Elleven Minutes And I Still Don't Know
by BetsunoNeko
Summary: It's this party. It's this stupid god-damn party and that's all. That's it. End of story. It's the alcohol, and the music and the- and… well, whatever. It's the party. That's all it is. That's the only reason why I'm here in the first place. This stupid party is the only reason why I'm stuck here with, of all people, Eric Cartman. Kyman OneShot


**A/N: **My_ first Kyman-y thing! Yay! I'm not planning on continuing this, but if someone wants to take it off my hands, feel free too. I'd love to see it continued as an actually story, I just don't have the time or energy right now (plus I suck at writing smut) :P _

_Reviews are always appreciated, don't be shy! ^^_

_~^BetsunoNeko^_

* * *

><p>It's this party. It's this stupid god-damn party and that's all. That's <em>it. <em>End of story. It's the alcohol, and the music and the- and… well, whatever. It's the party. That's all it is. This stupid fucking party and all the stupid shit in it, because if it wasn't for this party, I wouldn't even be in this position in the first place.

My breath comes out shakily as her hands move from my neck down just below the collar of my orange jacket. I shudder with the touch, but not really in a good way. Curly blonde hair coils and springs into my already blurry line of vision and tickle my sweat-dampened skin. The drink I had been holding sloshes against my jeans and the person on top of me. I gasp suddenly as another pair of lips smashes against mine and a tongue protrudes into my mouth. '_Kiss back', _I scold myself, willing every part of me to, but I don't. _'Kiss back, c'mon,' _I've known why I won't and why I'm not for a while now.

With a loud _pop _of suction being broken, a less than attractive line of spit connects our two mouths as the curly haired, brown eyed blonde pulls away, leaning back a little and distancing her chest from mine. '_Thank you, Moses.' _

"What's wrong, Kyle?" Pause. Painful silence. "Do you not like me?" Sadness. Weakness.

"N-no!" I respond to quickly, stuttering and feeling my face pale at her confused expression.

"Then what is it?"

"Bebe- I… I-…"

"Do you just not like it when I do _that_?" Her gaze turns lustful and the music suddenly becomes eighty decibels louder as her half-lidded brown eyes sweep me over. She licks at the corner of her pink and shiny strawberry lips, shimmering under the faint lights with lip gloss and saliva. Eye lashes thick with mascara blink slower, as if she's memorizing my expression, gauging me, taking me in. "Hmm?" She muses seductively. It does nothing for me if not make me ten-thousand times more uncomfortable.

Her hands sweep over my flesh under my shirt, gliding everywhere. I shudder again and my hands tug on her sleeves a little. "Bebe-", again her lips silence me. The sickening flavor of artificial strawberries and cheap beer is all I taste. My eyes are wide open and the music pounds in my ears. My stomach churns and my head thuds with each drumbeat.

She pulls off of me with another loud smack. "What's wrong with me, Kyle?" Uh oh. Her brown eyes are full of tears that threaten to spill over her mascara-caked lashes. "Do I really just disgust you that much?" Her hands never leave my neck, her talon-like fingernails arcing into my flesh.

"N-no, I just-," my stomach lurches violently. '_Get out of there.' _"…I gotta'…" Somehow my drunken struggle to stand off of the chair reaches her and she swings one leg across me, releasing herself from my lap and standing. I'm up in seconds, rushing somewhere, _anywhere _away from this party, this god-awful party. People talk and squeal and drinks are poured and dances are had and music blares and I just want to get _out _of there. My sweating palms hit the wood of the front door and I fling my entire body weight into it, spilling out like a mess on the wooden porch and staggering for my feet again.

The urgency doesn't leave me as my hands grip the wooden railing of the porch and I heave violently over the banister, vomiting into the bushes beneath me. As the last contents of my stomach force themselves out of my lips I decide I will never drink again. I stop hurling eventually, I know that. What I don't know, or what I'm not coherent enough to know is what the hell just happened and why I'm still bent over the white railing of Clyde Donovan's front porch.

I stand there forever, absolutely frozen as time continues to tick by me. Eventually there's an arm around my shoulders and the violent stench of cigarettes, pot, and liquor. Blonde hair. I almost puke again until I see a flash of orange and a plume of smoke blow into my face. Oh. Kenny, just Kenny.

"Kyle…!" He slurs excitedly. His pupils are massive in his blue eyes. He's on _something. _

"Yeah…?" My voice is less than enthusiastic and scratchy. Even in his current state, Kenny notices. Nothing goes by Kenny. Not a thing. He blinks and it lasts an eternity. The joint clasped in between his band-aid and chalice riddled fingers is raised again to his chapped lips and he inhales slowly, blowing the foul smelling smoke out in my face. I cough a little.

"Man, you are like… _drunk. _Pukin' out 'ere and h'it. Damn Ky'… 'nt think ya' had in-it-in y-o-u!" Kenny slurs, prodding at my chest with his fingers. He giggles as I swat a little at him in a pathetic attempt for him to stop.

"'M okay now," I mutter tonelessly, feeling some of my buzz begin to wear off even though I still feel way out of it.

"I can fix that!"

Ten minutes later I have a couple bruises on my arms from my futile struggle and am violently coughing up my lungs after Kenny had forced me to take a few drags from his joint. The fog in my head won't go away. I feel ten times better already.

Someone rushes onto the patio and Kenny gasps. "Ohmygod no-waaaay…" he hisses excitedly, death-gripping my wrist and pulling me back inside forcefully. I don't register much but soon we're in a large under-furnished bedroom sitting in a circle on the carpeted floor with a lot of people, male and female.

There's Wendy, draped drunkenly and lovingly over Stan who looks mildly irritated, (I vaguely remember him being tonight's designated driver), and Clyde, the host himself, along with Craig smoking a cigarette with Tweek attached at his hip, his eyes so dilated and calm looking that I can't help but wonder what miracle drug calmed his always twitchy ass down. Also in this circle are Butters, Heidi, Milly, Rebecca (haven't seen her in a while), Token and Cartman, who's so enthralled with his whiskey flask that I highly doubt he even registers the other people in the room. There are many more strung out and drunk people too but I don't know most of them.

Kenny practically drops to the ground on the other side of Craig, putting both arms around his neck and plating a rather sloppy and wet looking kiss on the side of his cheek. Craig seems completely unfazed and rolls his eyes a little. Only then do I notice that Tweek's head in in Craig's lap now and the psychotic blonde looks half asleep as his eyes wander around the ceiling as if he's watching birds fly by. It's a barely noticeable action but I can't help but see Craig's free hand stroke at Tweek's hair, smoothing it down a little. Only for a second more do I let myself ponder what the hell could be happening there before I'm tugged roughly to the ground beside Stan.

Silence follows.

My eyes lazily find a bottle in the center of the room and Clyde reaches out to spin it. Unable to focus on anything for too long, I find my eyes lazily scanning over everyone a few times until they come to a complete stop on Cartman of all people. His flask long forgotten lays at his feet as his hazel brown eyes move around the room. He has the kind of eyes where you can't really discern what color they are. They're a hazel color with vibrant streaks of amber and the smallest hints of green hidden underneath the layers of coldness. Over the years Cartman has changed a lot physically. He's one of the tallest boys in eleventh grade, coming a close second to Craig Tucker. He has a bulky build, that will never change, but he isn't really considered fat anymore. Except for in my eyes. To me he'll always be the resident fat-ass. Unlike the rest of us, a long time ago he ditched his hat. My green hat is a part of my soul and I still bear it proudly much like Stan with his hat and Kenny with his parka. He has light brown hair and surprisingly really fair skin. His usual blood-red jacket is unzipped revealing a grey T-shirt and really dark jeans.

Suddenly his eyes connect with mine as if he knew I was watching him. Every part of me screams to look away but I don't. I won't let myself lose. His eyes narrow a bit before one eyebrow raises. I try to scowl but feel myself fail miserably as his look becomes one of amusement. Suddenly too exhausted to care, I stick my tongue out at him. I can't hear him over the loud buzz of chatter that's suddenly erupted in the room but I read his lips and practically hear him in my head.

"_Fuck you, Jew." _

Thinking it will be funny, I try to do what Kenny always does when posed with the phrase. I try to turn my gaze to be somewhat seductive and try to wiggle my eyebrows but I'm too far gone to actually accomplish anything. His eyes widen and instead of getting flipped off, like I would expect from the boy, I watch him bite his lip and seemingly rip his eyes away from me as if I've suddenly become too hard to watch.

A door on the other side of the room opens and Heidi and Kenny stumble out, both looking flustered and sweaty. Then I realize the room is an under-furnished secondary master bedroom and the door they came out of leads to a bathroom. I turn to Stan.

"Dude, the fuck's going on in here?"

He turns to me, rolling his eyes. "It's a mix of spin-the-bottle and seven minutes in heaven. Some dumbass decided to change it to _eleven _minutes in heaven and because this was the only room someone wasn't getting fucked in we have to use the bathroom instead of a closet."

"Ohhhh…" I muse.

"Kyle, Jesus, how much have you had to drink?" Stan hisses, waving his hand in front of his face to clear the air.

"A lot…" I chuckle.

He fishes something out of his pocket and it takes me a minute to realize what it is. I chew the breath mint happily as Kenny and Heidi sit back down in the oval of people. Clyde says something and Heidi pauses for a moment.

"Who do I want to spin next?" She thinks aloud, green eyes scanning us all. "Craig!" She practically shouts.

Rolling his eyes and sighing, I watch giddily as the chullo-wearing boy attempts to move to the bottle without disturbing the now sleeping Tweek. His long arm somehow ends up reaching and we all watch with wide eyes as the bottle lands on some girl I don't know. Bored now, I don't really pay attention to what happens after.

Stan attempts to talk to me but eventually gives up and musters up a conversation with Wendy while I let my eyes wander back to Cartman again. Kenny moved over to be next to him and he notices me staring before Cartman does. Grinning like an idiot, Kenny nudges Cartman roughly in the rib cage and says something else I can't hear. I watch Cartman turn and punch Kenny in the side, his eyes narrowing as they meet mine.

The look on his face… I have no idea what it is but I can't tear my eyes away.

Luckily, something else does. The bathroom door opens and the blonde girl I don't know comes out, stepping cautiously, her face bright, bright pink. Craig looks completely unfazed as he moves to sit back on the floor.

"Craig, pick who spins next," Clyde says.

"Fine." He grumbles in his usual monotone. His eyes scan the room. "Broflovski."

I gulp, probably paling a little. My buzz has started to die down a little because of the nerves. Making out with someone I hardly know, or even worse, someone I _really _know in a bathroom for eleven minutes? Either way, I spin the brown bottle.

The silence in the room is so fucking thick I don't even think anyone breathes as the bottle comes to a stop. The only noise is the soft hum of music blasting out in the living room of the house. My mouth goes dry. I think my world just ended.

The bottle is pointing at Eric Cartman.

I feel any buzz or high I had possessed up to that point completely disappear as my mouth hangs open idiotically as I stare at the green glass of the bottle. It's a few moments before the laughter starts and I'm being pulled to my feet. Someone shouts something about "the destiny of the bottle" and before I know it I'm standing in front of the bathroom door getting thrown in while someone else whistles provocatively.

Cartman shouts something as the door closes and then I'm alone in the "closet" with Eric Cartman. Finally my eyes meet his and any sense of security I had completely vanishes. He looks just as mortified as me, but there's something else too. Something hungry in his eyes and I feel myself flinch under it. We don't say anything.

"I don't hear any kissing!" Kenny shouts obnoxiously from outside.

"Shut the fuck up, poor boy!" Cartman snaps back, his voice lacking its usual venom. He turns back to me. "God damn it…" Before I can say anything he steps forward, closing the small distance between us and letting an unreadable glare cross over his features. "Let's just get this over with."

"Wait Cart-" My voice is cut off abruptly with a squeak as his lips meet mine.

The kiss is more tentative than I thought it would be. One of his hands finds the back of my neck and tilts my head slightly, cradling it like he's afraid it will break. The other is also barely touching above my right hip, rooting me in place as if I would run. His eyes, those every-colored eyes are closed while mine are seared open. It feels like nothing I've ever felt in the entire world. A small fire starts in the pit of my stomach, and before I can act, it's over. He pulls away, but doesn't move away. Cartman's face still hovers above mine, his hands are still on me, but those eyes are open and his mouth is slightly parted and he's just staring wordlessly at me.

I don't know what to say and I don't know what to do. So maybe it's the alcohol, or the weed, or the over-all party atmosphere, but I let my eyes speak for me. Instantly I'm reminded of the moment with Bebe earlier. The uncomfortableness, the skin-crawling, vomit inducing wrongness of the whole thing, and then there's _this. _I can practically feel the lust seeping from Cartman and I recognize it now as the emotion he displayed earlier when I just was staring at him.

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. He _wants _this.

He probably wants to do it again. He's probably thinking of kissing me again, right now.

So why am I not stopping him?

"…I… fuck…" I whisper breathlessly and in my daze of confusion. Cartman simply says nothing. He's agonizing and he's waiting for me to say more. But I won't. I absolutely refuse to say anything. The next moment when our eyes lock is singlehandedly the most explosive moment in human history.

He inhales sharply and so do I, and then, in a lust-filled fury, our lips smash violently together in a clash of flesh and want. And _need. _Desperate, desperate _need. _

Cartman's hands slip under my arms and he lifts me onto the bathroom counter, pinning me there and ravaging my mouth with his tongue. The speed he works at is as if he will never experience anything like it ever again, like a last meal before an execution.

Again, in a desperate scream for oxygen, we pull apart, my hat falling the ground. There's more silence but it's so full of words and then-

"Time!" Clyde shouts from outside the door and for the second time that night, my world ends.

Cartman bends, picks up my hat, and hands it back to me without making eye contact. He turns and silently leaves the bathroom, walking past the circle of eager faces, pawing for the drama and juicy details. I think I dropped my hat again, but it didn't really matter.

Someone says something as the world caves in and two dark arms reach out to pull me beneath them, but it doesn't matter. I've already passed out.

God I hate parties.


End file.
